Crazy Weeks and Lazy Mornings
by colorguard28
Summary: After 46 straight days of working, Tony and McGee enjoy a quiet morning at home. Future Breathe. Tony/McGee.


_AN: This was my entry for LJ's NCIS Last Fiction Writer Standing contest, Session 5, Round 5. They were picture prompts and I chose the one of a plate of waffles covered in syrup. Set in future Breathe._

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><p><strong>Crazy Weeks and Lazy Mornings<strong>

Tony blinked his eyes open and rolled over to find the other half of the bed empty. Sunlight streamed in the bedroom windows, the blinds providing little shelter from the light. They really needed to get blackout curtains for the windows, but Gibbs had kept them so busy with cases, it never made it to the top of the to-do list.

He wanted to go back to sleep — it had been a long week even by Gibbs' standards — but a smell tickled the edges of his brain. Sniffing, he could pick up the familiar morning coffee aroma, thanks to their coffeepot timer. But there was something else at the edges of it. He sniffed again, and rolled out of bed. He pulled on a pair of jeans before heading downstairs.

"I thought I smelled maple syrup," he said, taking in the sight before him. "How come you never told me you knew how to make waffles?"

Tim turned to face him, a smear of batter on his MIT T-shirt. "And when was the last day we actually had the time for me to make them?"

"Point." Tony grabbed the mug of coffee Tim had waiting for him. Sipping, he smiled. Just the way he liked it. "OK, McWaffle, heat up my griddle."

Tim lifted an eyebrow. "You really can make anything into a dirty joke, can't you?" But he smirked as he said it. "You think you can handle what I have for you?"

Tony pulled out a chair and settled in at the kitchen table. "Bring it on."

When Tim set a plate of waffles down in front of him a few minutes later, they were drenched in syrup. He took the seat across from Tony, coffee mug in hand.

"None for you?" Tony spoke around a mouthful of waffle.

There was that smirk again. "I had mine while you were still asleep and Jethro was hunting imaginary rabbits in the back yard."

"Don't tell Abby, or she'll be over here trying to save invisible bunnies," Tony said. "And I'm pretty sure none of the ones Jethro was chasing are named Harvey."

"No, probably not," Tim said. "If they are, I'm calling Ducky because somebody needs his professional opinion."

"Don't look at me, McPsych," Tony retorted. "I'm not the one who talks to a stuffed hippo." He paused for a second. "Although he does talk back, sort of. If you can speak the language of hippo flatulence."

"Ask Ziva." Tim settled back in his chair, closing his eyes and sipping from the mug. "That's got to be one of the 10 languages she speaks."

"As long as it isn't the language of love." Tony rolled his eyes. "Did I tell you she tried giving me tips on what to do for you for Valentine's Day?"

"Pretty sure you cooking me dinner and setting up a Hitchcock movie marathon wasn't on her list," Tim said. "Although I'll bet she got the movies part." He paused. "Abby did the same thing with me — pretty sure those two planned it."

"And Abby might have suggested clubbing, but not the jazz club the night they were doing music from classic films," Tony said. He reached across to lace his fingers with Tim's. "You'd think they would have realized we've found a way to fit both our interests together by now."

Tim shrugged. "Why? They both make a point of being distinct. Neither one likes to let somebody dictate how they live, which isn't surprising. But part of making a relationship work, a serious one, is compromise. I'm still not sure how they're both managing to make things work with Jimmy and Damon." He snorted. "Especially Abby."

"Not going to argue with the resident Abby expert," Tony said. "Especially not somebody who can do the coffin and tattoo thing with her, be happy watching sports on the couch with me, geek out with Palmer over video games, and be happy in your study writing away." He smiled. "All those different pieces of you, and they're all you." He stopped for a second. "Wait, Mr. Gemcity isn't shaking things up in the next book is he? Agent Tommy is still interested in Lisa, right?"

Tim snorted and opened his eyes. "Always," he said. "The fans would kill me if I ever messed with McGregor and Amy and Tommy and Lisa. Good thing that's fiction." He grinned. "Especially since Jimmy's sleeping in the coffin these days."

"At least Amy's alive," Tony said. "He still hasn't forgiven you for Pimmy Jalmer's necrophilia in the first book." Tony made a face. "How did we get from waffles to sex with corpses?"

"The same way we always do," Tim said. "Well, not the sex with corpses. I prefer my sex with people who are alive."

"You'd better be preferring it with only one person who's alive," Tony said, pointing his syrup-coated fork at him.

Tim opened his mouth to reply, but before he had a chance, his cell phone rang.

"Gibbs." Tim pressed a button. "McGee."

Tony listened to Tim's side of the conversation, but he was already clearing the table.

"So much for a quiet morning at home," Tim said after he got off the phone. "Dead admiral in Rock Creek Park."

"Always Rock Creek Park," Tony said. "OK, you get McMutt, I'll grab a quick shower." He turned to look over his shoulder. "Unless you want to join me?"

"You did say quick, right?" Tim grinned. "Tonight, after we get home."

Before they headed out 20 minutes later, Tony filled his travel mug with coffee, then added maple syrup and cream. It wasn't hazelnut, but if it helped him remember the lazy morning at home as they worked their 47th day in a row, he'd take it.

He hurried out the door after Tim.


End file.
